


In Cold Blood

by missdorothysnarker



Category: True Detective
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Criminal AU, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdorothysnarker/pseuds/missdorothysnarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The criminal!AU nobody asked for. Probably out-of-character. Shamelessly bastardizing Truman Capote's true crime masterpiece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Cold Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking love the show, which I just discovered, and there needs to be much more fan works. This is my meager contribution. I don't know what I'm doing, but in my defense I've never been farther south than DC, unless we're counting DisneyWorld.

Marty Hart swaggers into Rust Cohle's cell and into his life one blistering hot day in August. 

The air tastes dirty yellow like urine-splashed snow, smells like his own sharp sweat and cigarette smoke. Out of the corner of half-closed eyes he sees smears of primary colors, yellow hair, red skin and blue eyes, a jutting jaw and long nose. Big, beefy, walks like he had a big cock and wants everyone to know it; the good ol' boy type that goes to fat in mid-life. 

'Marty Hart,' he says, dropping his shit on the top bunk, glancing down at Rust sprawled across the lower, cigarette dangling from his lips. 

The man's younger than him, how much Marty can't tell because he's so hollow-cheeked, got a hard face, flinty eyes and dark hair curled damp on his forehead. Hasn't hardly even looked up from the book he's reading, something called 'The Stranger,' nothing Marty's ever heard of. But then he's never been much of a reader.

'Good for you,' is the reply, hoarsely drawled, like he hasn't talked to anyone in a long while.

'You got a name?' 

'What'd you think?'

'Lemme take a guess. Jennifer Lawrence.'

'Ain't I a lucky one. Got a real comedian here.'

'Yeah, you're a ray of fucking sunshine yourself.'

There's a beat of silence in which Rust blows out a stream of smoke.

'How long you in here?' Marty asks. Might as well, he sure as fuck hasn't got anything else to do, even if his cellmate's sure as shit no conversationalist.

'Five months. Breaking and entering. Rust Cohle. You gonna ask any more questions or did I get 'em all?'

'Rust Cohle? The fuck kind of name is that?'

'Mine. Now you're gonna let me read in peace or we're gonna have a problem.'

Marty whistles low, through his crooked teeth.

'What crawled up your ass and died?'

+

Rust stands up real slow, dropping the book on the bed and crushing his smoke underfoot. He peels off his dirty wifebeater, revealing a lean chest, muscled arms with a bird taking flight on the right one. 

'Honey, you don't have to strip for me. We just met.'

In a flash Rust is shoving him against the wall, hands fisted in his shirt.

'I'm gonna make this nice and clear for you, Marty: we ain't buddies, and we're never gonna be buddies. You got that? Now stay the fuck out of my way.'

Marty can see the pulse in his throat, his adam's apple bulging in a neck too long to be a man's. 

'I'm guessing the other bunk was free because all your other roommates tried to fucking kill you. Too bad they weren't lucky. Too fucking bad.'

'I'd be only too happy to get out of this shithole in a body bag. We all gonna die one way or another, just sentient meat crawling around, living our little lives on a hunk of rock in space. What does it fucking matter how we go.'

'Be my guest, man.' 

Rust says nothing, but his spine tenses. He starts doing crunches and pushups on the filthy floor, like Marty isn't there, isn't watching him. 

+

'If I had a face like yours I'd be drowning in pussy. More'n I already do, that is.' 

'Good luck getting pussy in here. Unless you like sucking dick too.'

'Naw, I ain't a fag. I do appreciate a fine ass, like a little anal action, you know what I'm saying.'

Rust laughs, a sound as rough as his voice. 

'You think the boys in here give a shit if you're queer? They ain't asking for a date.'

'Bet you know from experience, pretty boy like you.'

'I have my ways of disenchanting them about the idea.'

'All you gotta do is open your goddamn mouth, cockblock them real fast.'

'Sounds like you got it all figured out.' 

Marty might not be some kind of intellectual giant, but he knows the sound of being mocked when he hears it. 

'Don't you worry, boy, I'll protect your sweet ass.'

Rust snorts. 

'You can't protect a damn thing, not even yourself. And let's make one thing real clear – I ain't nobody's bitch.'

'Whatever you say, baby. And since you so kindly inquired, I'm in here for bad checks.'

'White-collar crime. Shit's nothing special.'

'Alright, smartass, what's so special about B&E?'

Rust goes quiet, staring at the floor beneath him as if he can read the cracks in the concrete.

'I killed a man once.'

'Why'm I not fucking surprised?' Marty stares at him and sees the face of a skull, skin drawn tight as a mummy. 'You got that look in your eye. Kind of psycho.'

'It changes you. Makes you realize it doesn't matter – life, death, natural, murder. It's all never-ending cycle of insignificance. We're all dust to dust, eaten by worms in the end.'

'Oh, so you're a killer and a fucking philosopher too. This is my lucky day.'

'You never killed nobody. You don't have it in you, for all your macho bullshit.'

Rust lies back down on the ground, resuming his sit-ups again. 

'You're tempting me, man. I don't know how I'm gonna resist killing you with my bare hands.'

'Shut the fuck up before you turn me on.'

+


End file.
